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I ■ ^^'^^■"■^"l-^.^"*^^^™-^-"^^ 



BY 

ROBCRT BROWNING 




DRAWINGS BY 

FRANK O.SMAL 



'"-"^^^^^■^-^■'^ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap.._\-.... Copyright No. 

Shelf. .iiS 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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Copyright 1890, 
By L. prang & CO. 

Copyright 1896, 
By T. Y. CROWELL & CO. 



tli0t of Jillustrations?* 



'■'■ Since the King. O my friend, for thy countenance sent.'"' 

[Stanza I.] Frontispiece. 
Said Abner^ -At last thou art coined [Stanza I.] 
" Then a sunbeam, that burst through the tent-roof, showed 

Saul.'' [Stanza III.] 
'• Where the long grasses stifle the luater ivithin the streanCs 

bed.'" [Stanza V.] 
'• Then I played the help-tune of our reapers, their wine 

song when hand grasps at hand."' [Stanza VII.] 
" And then, the last song when the dead jnan is praised on 

his journey'' [Stanza VII.] 
" And then, the glad chaunt of the maj-riage." [Stanza VII.] 
'• Theti, the chorus intoned as the Lev it es go up to the altar."'' 

[Stanza VII.] 

iii 



Illustrations; 

•• The hunt of the bear." [Stanza IX. j 

''And the sleep in the dried river-channel." [Stanza IX.] 

•• Hast thou loved the ivhite locks of thy father^ whose 

sword thou didst guard when he trusted thee fwth 

with the armies." [Stanza IX.] 
•• Tha7i by slow pallid sunsets in autu7nn. ye watch fro7n 

the shore, at their sad lei'el gaze o'er the ocean — a 

suns slow decline." [Stanza X.] 
•• Then fancies grew rife which had come long ago on the 

pasture.'- [Stanza XII.] 
♦• Let me tell out my tale to its ending." [Stanza XIV.] 
•• The dawn struggliiig with flight.'' [Stanza XI\'.] 
" He is Saul, ye remember in glory."' [Stanza XV.] 
" That he sat, as I say. with my head Just above his vast 

knees." [Stanza XV.] 
" I know not too well how I foufid my way home in the 

night." [Stanza XVIII.] 
" As a runner beset by the populace famished for news."' 

[Stanza XVIII.] 



IV 



I'nrrotiticrorr i^orr 



BY 

CHARLOTTE PORTER and HELEX A. CLARKE, 
EiKTOBS OF " BitowxisG's Sei-ected Poems."" 



Saul, founded on the passage in i Samuel x\-i. 14-23, 
where Saul is described as being troubled with an evil 
spirit which David drives a\i:ay by playing the harp, — 
puts into David's mouth the account of his ministry to 
Saul s great need by means of his music, which working 
upon the memory and emotions of Saul at last arouses 
him from his lethargy. First, he sings to him the simpler 
tunes to the brutes, then the help-tunes for great epochs 
in human life. Leading up to the tunes of human aspira- 
tion, he sings first of the great joys of life, and then cen- 
tres his song upon the greatness of Saul'^s life espedallv. 
Seeing that Saul is now fully aroused but not comforted, 
Da\'id sing^ another song showing that Saul's true great- 
ness does not lie in his mortal life, but in the far-reaching 



5|ntroUuctor^ Jiote* 

effect of his great deeds. Then, through the intense and 
self-sacrificing love with which David is inspired for Saul, 
the prophetic revelation of God as an incarnation of love 
in Christ is borne in upon him. Yearning to give Saul 
greater comfort, even the assurance of a future resurrec- 
tion of life, the truth comes to him. In Nature God has 
been revealed to him as the Almighty ; in his own love, 
God is revealed to him as Love, infinitely strong in his 
power to love and able to accomplish what David only 
desires to accomplish, but infinitely weak in his power to 
be loved, through which weakness he shall become incar- 
nate and be the salvation of mankind, i. Abner^ the son 
of Ner, captain of Saul's host (i Samuel xxvi. 5). — V. 
'■^ And I first played the time.'''' Prof Albert S. Cook sug- 
gests that Browning may have obtained hints for these 
tunes from Longus's romance of "Daphnis and Chloe." 
The first is found on pp. 303-4 (Smith's translation, Bohn 
Ed.). " He ran through all variations of pastoral melody ; 
he played the tune which the oxen obey, and which at- 
tracts the goats, — that in which the sheep delight,'" etc., 
pp. 332-4. ... " Standing under the shade of a beech- 
tree, he took his pipe from his scrip, and breathed into it 
very gently. The goats stood still, merely lifting up their 
heads. Next he played the pasture tune, upon which 
they all put down their heads and began to graze. Now 

vi 



i 



i 



31ntrotiuctor^ jl^ote* 

he produced some notes soft and sweet in tone : at once 
his herd lay down. After this he piped in a sharp key, 
and they ran off to the wood, as if a wolf were in sight."' 
In answer to the question as to whether there is any 
historical foundation for David's songs, Rabbi Charles 
Fleischer of Boston replied in a letter to the editors : " I 
believe that David's songs in Browning's poem • Saul ' are 
the inspired melodies of our 19th century David rather 
than the songs of Israel's poetic shepherd-king. . . . 
While, then, I believe that these melodies in • Saul ' were 
not current among the Jews of old, I know that they would 
serve well to express beliefs and ideals characteristic of the 
best minds among the Jews of to-day." VI. Jerboa^ a 
small jumping rodent, called also a jumping hare. — VIIl. 
Male-sapphires, superior. The ancient sapphire was the 
same as our lapis-lazuh. — XIV. Hebron^ the most southern 
of the three cities of refuge west of Jordan. — XIV. Kidro?i, 
a brook in Jerusalem. (•' Bells and Pomegranates," No. 
7. — Dramatic Romances and Lyrics, 1845, ^^^ ^^^^ nmt 
stanzas. '' Men and Women," 1855, the completed poem.) 



Vll 



mm 








I. 



Said Abner, "At -last thou art come! Ere I 

tell, ere thou speak, 
Kiss m)'^ cheek, wish me well ! " Then I wished 

it, and did kiss his cheek. 
And he, *• Since the King, O my friend, for thy 

countenance sent, 
Neither drunken nor eaten have we : nor until 

from his tent 



Thou return with the joyful assurance the King 

Uveth yet, 
Shall our lip with the honey be bright, with the 

water be wet. 
For out of the black mid-tent's silence, a space 

of three days. 
Not a sound hath escaped to thy servants, of 

prayer nor of praise, 
To betoken that Saul and the Spirit have ended 

their strife, 
And that, faint in his triumph, the monarch 

sinks back upon life. 



II. 

" Yet now my heart leaps, O beloved I God's 

child with his dew 
On thy gracious gold hair, and those lilies still 

living and blue 
Just broken to twine round thy harp-strings, as 

if no wild heat 
Were now raging to torture the desert 1 " 



g)auU 



III. 

Then I, as was meet, 

Knelt down to the God of my fathers, and rose 

on my feet, 
And ran o'er the sand burnt to powder. The 

tent was unlooped ; 
I pulled up the spear that obstructed, and under 

I stooped ; 
Hands and knees on the slippery grass-patch, 

all withered and gone, 
That extends to the second enclosure, I groped 

my way on 
Till I felt where the foldskirts fly open. Then 

once more I prayed. 
And opened the foldskirts and entered, and was 

not afraid 
But spoke, ''Here is David, thy servant! " And 

no voice replied. 

4 



eauL 

At the first I saw nought but the blackness ; 
but soon I descried 

A something more black than the blackness — 
the vast, the upright 

Main prop which sustains the pavilion : and 
slow into sight 

Grew a figure against it, gigantic and blackest 
of all. 

Then a sunbeam, that burst through the tent- 
roof, showed Saul. 



IV. 

He stood as erect as that tent-prop, both arms 
stretched out wide 

On the great cross-support in the centre, that 
goes to each side ; 

He relaxed not a muscle, but hung there as, 
caught in his pangs 

And waiting his change, the king-serpent all 
heavily hangs. 

Far away from his kind, in the pine, till deliver- 
ance come 

With the spring-time, — so agonized Saul, drear 
and stark, blind and dumb. 



g)auL 
V. 

Then I tuned my harp, — took off the lihes we 

twine round its chords 
Lest they snap 'neath the stress of the noontide 

— those sunbeams Hke swords ! 
And I first played the tune all our sheep know^, 

as, one after one. 
So docile they come to the pen-door till folding 

be done. 
They are white and untorn by the bushes, for 

lo, they have fed 
Where the long grasses stifle the water within 

the stream's bed ; 
And now one after one seeks its lodging, as star 

follows star 
Into eve and the blue far above us, — so blue 

and so far ! 



VI.- 

— Then the tune, for which quails on the corn- 
land will each leave his mate 
To fly after the player ; then, what makes the 

crickets elate 
Till for boldness they fight one another : and 

then, what has weight 
To set the quick jerboa a-musing outside his 

sand house — 
There are none such as he for a wonder, half 

bird and half mouse ! 
God made all the creatures and gave them our 

love and our fear. 
To give sign, we and they are his children, one 

family here. 



J 




m 



s^aiiL 



VII. 



Then I placed the help-tune :: :.r re?,::er5, 
their wine-song/ when hand 

Grasps at hand, eye lights eye in good friend- 
ship, and great hearts expand 

And grow one in the sense of this world's life. 
— And then, the last song 

WTien the dead man is praised on his journey — 
" Bear, bear him along 




i 



AVith his few faults shut up Hke dead flowerets I 

Are balm seeds not here 
To console us ? The land has none left such as 

he on the bier. 
Oh, would we might keep thee, my brother I " — 

And then, the glad chaunt 
Of the marriage, — first go the young maidens, 

next, she whom we vaunt 
As the beauty, the pride of our dwelling. — 

And then, the srreat march 




10 



Wherein man runs to man to assist him and 
buttress an arch 

Nought can break ; who shall harm them, our 
friends ? Then, the chorus intoned 

As the Levites go up to the altar in glory en- 
throned. 

But I stopped here : for here in the darkness 
Saul groaned. 



II 



VIII. 

And I paused, held my breath in such silence, 
and listened apart ; 

And the tent shook, for mighty Saul shuddered : 
and sparkles 'gan dart 

From the jewels that woke in his turban, at once 
with a start. 

All its lordly male-sapphires, and rubies coura- 
geous at heart. 

So the head : but the body still moved not, still 
hung there erect. 

And I bent once again to my playing, pursued 
it unchecked. 

As I sang, — 



12 



g)auL 

IX. 

" Oh, our manhood's prime vigor ! No 

spirit feels waste, 
Not a muscle is stopped in its playing, nor sinew 

unbraced. 
Oh, the wild joys of living ! the leaping from 

rock up to rock. 
The strong rending of boughs from the fir-tree, 

the cool silver shock 
Of the plunge in a pool's living water, the hunt 

of the bear. 
And the sultriness showing the lion is couched 

in his lair. 
And the meal, the rich dates yellowed over with 

gold dust divine. 
And the locust-flesh steeped in the pitcher, the 

full draught of wine, 
And the sleep in the dried river-channel where 

bulrushes tell 

13 



g>auL 

That the water was wont to go warbhng so softly 

and well. 
How good is man's life, the mere living I how 

fit to employ 




U 



All the heart and the soul and the senses forever 

in joy ! 
Hast thou loved the white locks of thy father, 

whose sword thou didst guard 
When he trusted thee forth with the armies, for 

glorious reward ? 
Didst thou see the thin hands of thy mother, 

held up as men sung 
The low song of the nearly-departed, and hear 

her faint tongue 
Joining in while it could to the witness, ' Let 

one more attest, 
I have lived, seen God's hand through a lifetime, 

and all was for best ? ' 
Then they sung through their tears in strong 

triumph, not much, but the rest. 
And thy brothers, and help and the contest, the 

working whence grew 
Such result as, from seething grape-bundles, the 

spirit strained true : 

15 



&auU 

And the friends of thy boyhood — that boyhood 

of wonder and hope, 
Present promise and wealth of the future b)eyond 

the eye's scope, — 
Till lo, thou art grown to a monarch ; a people 

is thine ; 
And all gifts, which the world offers singly, on 

one head combine ! 
On one head, all the beauty and strength, love 

and rage (like the throe 
That, a-work in the rock, helps its labor and 

lets the gold go) 
High ambition and deeds which surpass it, fame 

crowning them, — all 
Brought to blaze on the head of one creature — 

King Saul ! " 



i6 



X. 

And lo. with that leap of my spirit, — heart, 

hand, harp and voice. 
Each lifting Saul's name out of sorrow, each 

bidding rejoice 
Saul's fame in the light it was made for — as 

when, dare I say, 
The Lord's armv. in rapture of service, strains 

through its array, 
And upsoareth the cherubim-chariot — '*' Saul I " 

cried I. and stopped. 
And waited the thing that should follow. Then 

Saul, who hung propped 
By the tent's cross-support in the centre, was 

struck by his name. 
Have ye seen when Spring's arrowy summons 

goes right to the aim. 
And some mountain, the last to withstand her, 

that held (he alone, 

17 



g)auU 

While the vale laughed in freedom and flowers) 

on a broad bust of stone 
A year's snow bound about for a breast-plate, — 

leaves grasp of the sheet ? 
Fold on fold all at once it croAvds thunderously 

down to his feet, 
And there fronts you, stark, black, but alive yet, 

your mountain of old. 
With his rents, the successive bequeathings of 

ages untold — 
Yes, each harm got in fighting your battles, 

each furrow and scar 
Of his head thrust 'twixt you and the tempest — 

all hail, there they are ! 
— Now again to be softened with verdure, again 

hold the nest 
Of the dove, tempt the goat and its young to 

the green on his crest 
For their food in the ardors of summer. One 

Ions: shudder thrilled 



g)auL 

All the tent till the very air tingled, then sank 
and was stilled 

At the King's self left standing before me, re- 
leased and aware. 

What was gone, what remained ? All to trav- 
erse 'twixt hope and despair; 

Death was past, life not come : so he waited. 
Awhile his right hand 

Held the brow, helped the eyes left too vacant 
forthwith to remand 

To their place what new objects should enter : 
'twas Saul as before. 

I looked up and dared gaze at those eyes, nor 
was hurt any more 

Than by slow pallid sunsets in autumn, ye watch 
from the shore. 

At their sad level gaze o'er the ocean — a sun's 
slow decline 

Over hills which, resolved in stern silence, o'er- 
lap and entwine 

19 



Base with base to knit strength more intensely 

so, arm folded arm 
O'er the chest whose slow hearings subsided. 



20 



&ml 



XI. 

What spell or what charm, 
(For, awhile there was trouble within me,) what 

next should I urge 
To sustain him where song had restored him ? — 

Song filled to the verge 
His cup with the wine of this life, pressing all 

that it yields 
Of mere fruitage, the strength and the beauty : 

beyond, on what fields, 
Glean a vintage more potent and perfect to 

brighten the eye 
And bring blood to the lip, and commend them 

the cup they put by ? 
He saith, " It is good ; " still he drinks not : he 

lets me praise life, 
Gives assent, yet would die for his own part. 



21 



x^aul. 



XII. 

Then fancies grew rife 
AMiich had come long ago on the pasture, when 

round me the sheep 
Fed in silence — above, the one eagle wheeled 

slow as in sleep ; 
And I la}' in m\" hollow and mused on the worid 

that might He 
*Neath his ken, though I saw but the strip 'twixt 

the hiU and the sky : 
And I laughed — ** Since my days are ordained 

to be passed with my flocks, 
Let me people at least, with my fancies, the 

plains and the rocks. 
Dream the life I am never to mix with, and 

image the show 
Of mankind as they Uve in those fashions I 

hardh^ shall know ! 

22 



Schemes of life, its best rules and right uses, the 

courage that gains, 
And the prudence that keeps what men strive 

for." 

And now these old trains 
Of vague thought came again ; I grew surer ; 

so, once more the string 
Of my harp made response to my spirit, as 

thus — 



23 



eaiiL 

XIII. 

** Yea, m}" King/' 
I began — "thou dost weU in rejecting mere 

comforts that spring 
From the mere mortal life held in conunon by 

man and bv brute : 

J/ 

In our flesh grows the branch of this life, in our 

soul it bears fruit 
Thou hast marked the slow rise of the tree, — 

how its stem trembled first 
Till it passed the kid's lip. the stag's antler: 

then safely outb-irs: 
The :i ■ : e? all round; and thou mindest 

7 :. in turn. 

frct : yet more was : r :.. 
Z r : 7 ;xl that comes m with the palm-fruiL 

' :~ ' shall we slight, 
Whc:. ij.; : _.:e brings a cure for all S'^rrow ? 

or care for the plight 



g)auU 

Of the palm's self whose slow growth produced 

them ? Not so ! stem and branch 
Shall decay, nor be known in their place, while 

the palm-wine shall stanch 
Every wound of man's spirit in winter. I pour 

thee such wine. 
Leave the flesh to the fate it was fit for ! the 

spirit be thine ! 
By the spirit, when age shall o'ercome thee, 

thou still shalt enjoy 
More indeed, than at first when inconscious, the 

life of a boy. 
Crush that life, and behold its wine running ! 

Each deed thou hast done 
Dies, revives, goes to work in the world ; until 

e'en as the sun 
Looking down on the earth, though clouds 

spoil him, though tempests efface, 
Can find nothing his own deed produced not, 

must everywhere trace 

25 



I 



g)auL 

The results of his past summer-prime, — so, 

each ray of thy will. 
Every flush of thy passion and prowess, long 

over, shall thrill 
Thy whole people, the countless, with ardor, till 

they too give forth 
A like cheer to their sons, who in turn, fill the 

South and the North 
With the radiance thy deed was the germ of. 

Carouse in the past ! 
But the license of age has its limit ; thou diest 

at last : 
As the lion when age dims his eyeball, the rose 

at her height. 
So with man — so his power and his beauty for- 
ever take flight. 
No ! Again a long draught of my soul-wine ! 

Look forth o'er the years ! 
Thou hast done now with eyes for the actual ; 

begin with the seer's ! 

26 



Is Saul dead ? In the depth of the vale make 
his tomb — bid arise 

A gray mountain of marble heaped four-square, 
till, built to the skies, 

Let it mark where the great First King slum- 
bers : whose fame Avould ve know ? 

Up above see the rock's naked face, where the 
record shall go 

In great characters cut by the scribe, — Such 
was Saul, so he did ; 

With the sages directing the work, by the popu- 
lace chid, — 

For not half, they "11 affirm, is comprised there I 
Which fault to amend. 

In the grove with his kind grows the cedar, 
whereon they shall spend 

(See, in tablets 'tis level before them) their 
praise, and record 

With the gold of the graver, Saul's story, — the 



statesman's great word 



27 



Side by side with the poet's sweet comment. 

The river "s a-wave 
With smooth paper-reeds grazing each other 

when prophet-winds rave : 
So the pen gives unborn generations their due 

and their part 
In thy being I Then, first of the mighty, thank 

God that thou art I " 



28 



g)auL 

XIV. 

And behold while I sang . . . but O Thou who 

didst grant me that day, 
And before it not seldom hast granted thy help 

to essay, 
Carry on and complete an adventure, — my 

shield and my sword 
In that act where my soul was thy servant, thy 

word was my word, — 
Still be with me, who then at the summit of 

human endeavor 
And scaling the highest, man's thought could, 

gazed hopeless as ever 
On the new stretch of heaven above me — till, 

mighty to save, 
Just one lift of thy hand cleared that distance — 

God's throne from man's grave ! 
Let me tell out my tale to its ending — my voice 

to my heart 

29 



Which can scarce dare believe in what marvels 
last night I took part, 

As this morning I gather the fragments, alone 
with my sheep. 

And still fear lest the terrible glory evanish like 
sleep ! 

For I wake in the gray dewy covert, while 
Hebron upheaves 

The dawn struggling with night on his shoul- 
der, and Kidron retrieves 

Slow the damage of yesterday's sunshine. 



30 



XV. 

I say then, — my song 

While I sang thus, assuring the monarch, and 

ever more strong 
Made a proffer of good to console him — he 

slowly resumed 
His old motions and habitudes kingly. The 

right hand replumed 
His black locks to their wonted composure, ad- 
justed the swathes 
Of his turban, and see — the huge sweat that 

his countenance bathes, 
He wipes off with the robe ; and he girds now 

his loins as of yore, 
And feels slow for the armlets of price, with the 

clasp set before. 
He is Saul, ye remember in glory, — ere error 

had bent 
The broad brow from the daily communion ; 

and still, though much spent 

31 



g)attU 

Be the life and the bearing that front you, the 

same, God did choose. 
To receive what a man may waste, desecrate, 

never quite lose. 
So sank he along by the tent-prop till, stayed 

by the pile 
Of his armor and war-cloak and garments, he 

leaned there awhile, 
And sat out my singing, — one arm round the 

tent-prop, to raise 
His bent head, and the other hung slack — till 

I touched on the praise 
I foresaw from all men in all time, to the man 

patient there ; 
And thus ended, the harp falling forward. Then 

first I was 'ware 
That he sat, as I say, with my head just above 

his vast knees 
Which were thrust out on each side around me, 

like oak roots which please 

32 



To encircle a lamb when it slumbers. I looked 

up to know 
If the best I could do had brought solace : he 

spoke not, but slow 
Lifted up the hand slack at his side, till he laid 

it with care 
Soft and grave, but in mild settled will, on my 

brow : through my hair 
The large fingers were pushed, and he bent 

back my head, with kind power — ■ 
All my face back, intent to peruse it, as men do 

a flower. 
Thus held he me there with his great eyes that 

scrutinized mine — 
And oh, all my heart how it loved him ! but 

where was the sign ? 
I yearned — "Could I help thee, my father, in- 
venting a bliss, 
I would add, to that life of the past, both the 

future and this ; 

33 



g>auL 

To encircle a lamb when it slumbers. I looked 

up to know 
If the best I could do had brought solace : he 

spoke not, but slow 
Lifted up the hand slack at his side, till he laid 

it with care 
Soft and grave, but in mild settled will, on my 

brow : through my hair 
The large fingers were pushed, and he bent 

back my head, with kind power — ■ 
All my face back, intent to peruse it, as men do 

a flower. 
Thus held he me there with his great eyes that 

scrutinized mine — 
And oh, all my heart how it loved him ! but 

where was the sign ? 
I yearned — " Could I help thee, my father, in- 
venting a bliss, 
I would add, to that life of the past, both the 

future and this ; 

33 



g>auU 

I would give thee new life altogether, as good, 

ages hence, 
As this moment, — had love but the warrant, 

love's heart to dispense ! " 



34 



^auL 



XVI. 



Then the truth came upon me. No harp more 

— no song more ! out-broke 
" I have gone the whole round of creation : I 

saw and I spoke : 
I, a work of God's hand for that purpose, 

received in my brain 
And pronounced on the rest of his handwork — 

returned him again 
His creation's approval or censure ; I spoke as 

I saw : 
I report, as a man may of God's work — all's 

love, yet all 's law. 
Now I lay down the judgeship he lent me. 

Each faculty tasked 
To perceive him, has gained an abyss, where a 

dewdrop was asked. 
Have I knowledge ? confounded it shrivels at 

Wisdom laid bare. 

35 



Have I forethought ? how purblind, how blank, 

to the Infinite Care ! 
Do I task any faculty highest, to image success ? 
I but open my eyes, — and perfection, no more 

and no less, 
In the kind I imagined, full-fronts me, and God 

is seen God 
In the star, in the stone, in the flesh, in the soul 

and the clod. 
And thus looking within and around me, I ever 

renew 
(With that stoop of the soul which in bending 

upraises it too) 
The submission of man's nothing-perfect to 

God's all-complete, 
As by each new obeisance in spirit, I climb to 

his feet. 
Yet with all this abounding experience, this 

deity known, 
I shall dare to discover some province, some 

gift of my own. -^^6 



There "s a faculty pleasant to exercise, hard to 

hoodwink, 
I am fain to keep still in abeyance. (I laugh as 

I think) 
Lest, insisting to claim and parade in it wot ye, 

I worst 
E'en the Giver in one gift. — Behold, I could 

love if I durst I 
But I sink the pretension as fearing a man may 

o'ertake 
God's own speed in the one way of love : I 

abstain for love's sake. 
— What, my soul ? see thus far and no farther ? 

when doors great and small, 
Xine-and-ninety flew ope at our touch, should 

the hundredth appall ? 
In the least things have faith, yet distrust in the 

greatest of all } 
Do I find love so full in my nature, God's ulti- 
mate gift, 

37 



That I doubt his own love can compete with it ? 

Here, the parts shift ? 
Here, the creature surpass the Creator — the 

end, what Began ? 
Would I fain in my impotent yearning do all for 

this man. 
And dare doubt he alone shall not help him, 

who yet alone can ? 
Would it ever have entered my mind, the bare 

will, much less power. 
To bestow on this Saul what I sang of, the 

marvellous dower 
Of the life he was gifted and filled with ? to 

make such a soul. 
Such a body, and then such an earth for in- 
sphering the whole ? 
And doth it not enter my mind (as my warm 

tears attest), 
These good things being given, to go on, and 

give one more, the best ? 

3S 



Ay, to save and redeem and restore him, main- 
tain at the height 

This perfection, — succeed with Hfe's dayspring, 
death's minute of night ? 

Interpose at the difficult minute, snatch Saul 
the mistake, 

Saul the failure, the ruin he seems now, — and 
bid him awake 

From the dream, the probation, the prelude, to 
find himself set 

Clear and safe in new light and new life, — a 
new harmony yet 

To be run, and continued, and ended — who 
knows ? — or endure ! 

The man taught enough by life's dream, of the 
rest to make sure ; 

By the pain-throb, triumphantly winning inten- 
sified bliss. 

And the next world's reward and repose, by the 
struggles in this. 

39 



§)auU 

XVII. 

" I believe it ! 'T is thou, God, that givest, 't is I 

who receive : 
In the first is the last, in thy will is my power to 

believe. 
All 's one gift : thou canst grant it moreover, as 

prompt to my prayer 
As I breathe out this breath, as I open these 

arms to the air. 
From thy will, stream the worlds, life and 

nature, thy dread Sabaoth : 
/ will ? — the mere atoms despise me ! Why am 

I not loth 
To look that, even that in the face too ? Why 

is it I dare 
Think but lightly of such impuissance ? What 

stops my despair ? 
This ; — 't is not what man Does which exalts 

him, but what man Would do ! 

40 



4 



4 



g>auU 

XVII. 

*' I believe it ! 'T is thou, God, that givest, 't is I 

who receive : 
In the first is the last, in thy will is my power to 

believe. 
All 's one gift : thou canst grant it moreover, as 

prompt to my prayer 
As I breathe out this breath, as I open these 

arms to the air. 
From thy will, stream the worlds, life and 

nature, thy dread Sabaoth : 
/ will .? — the mere atoms despise me ! Why am 

I not loth 
To look that, even that in the face too } Why 

is it I dare 
Think but lightly of such impuissance } What 

stops my despair } 
This ; — 't is not what man Does which exalts 

him, but what man Would do ! 

40 



See the King — I would help hmi but cannot, 
the wishes fall throuo'h. 

o 

Could I wrestle to raise him from sorrow, grow 

poor to enrich, 
To fill up his life, starve my own out, I would — 

knowing which, 
I know that my serA'ice is perfect. Oh, speak 

through me now I 
Would I suffer for him that I love ? So wouldst 

thou — so wilt thou I 
So shall crown thee the topmost, ineffablest, 

uttermost crown — 
x\nd thv love fills infinitude wholly, nor leave up 

nor down 
One spot for the creature to stand in I It is by 

no breath, 
Turn of eye, wave of hand, that salvation joins 

issue with death I 
As thy Love is discovered almighty, almighty 

be proved 

41 



g)auL 

Thy power, that exists with and for it, of being 

Beloved ! 
He who did most, shall bear most; the strongest 

shall stand the most weak. 
'T is the weakness in strength that I cry for ! my 

flesh, that I seek 
In the Godhead ! I seek and I find it. O Saul, 

it shall be 
A Face like my face that receives thee ; a Man 

like to me 
Thou shalt love and be loved by, forever : a 

Hand like this hand 
Shall throw open the gates of new life to thee ! 

See the Christ stand ! " 



42 



XVIII. 

I know not too well how I found my way home 

in the night. 
There were witnesses, cohorts about me, to left 

and to right, 
Angels, powers, the unuttered, unseen, the alive, 

the aware : 
I repressed, I got through them as hardly, as 

strugglingly there, 
As a runner beset by the populace famished for 

news — 
Life or death. The whole earth was awakened, 

hell loosed with her crews ; 
And the stars of night beat with emotion, and 

tingled and shot 
Out in fire the strong pain of pent knowledge : 

but I fainted not. 
For the Hand still impelled me at once and 

supported, suppressed 

43 



g>auL 

All the tumult, and quenched it with quiet, and 

holy behest, 
Till the rapture was shut in itself, and the earth 

sank to rest. 
Anon at the dawn, all that trouble had withered 

from earth — 
Not so much, but I saw it die out in the day's 

tender birth ; 
In the gathered intensity brought to the gray of 

the hills ; 
In the shuddering forests' held breath ; in the 

sudden wind-thrills; 
In the startled wild beasts that bore off, each 

with eye sidling still 
Though averted with wonder and dread ; in the 

birds stiff and chill 
That rose heavily, as I approached them, made 

stupid with awe : 
E'en the serpent that slid away silent, — he felt 

the new law. 

44 



The same stared in the white humid faces up- 
turned by the flowers ; 

The same worked in the heart of the cedar and 
moved the vine-bowers : 

And the Uttle brooks witnessing murmured, 
persistent and low, 

With their obstinate, all but hushed voices — 
" E'en so, it is so ! " 



FINIS. 



45 



I 



